


Katoh

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Choking, Established Relationship, Fire, Flashbacks, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:52:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you use 'katoh' for everybody?”</p><p>“I ask people if they have a word they use, if they're awkward like you, I use katoh.” The Bull looked up from his work to catch Dorian's gaze. “You can choose another word if you want. Whatever works for you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Katoh

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like more explanation about the nature of the warning for rape/non-con, please skip down to to the end note. The explanation contains spoilers for the story.
> 
> Illustrations for this story are done by the wonderful [Dread](http://dreadelion.tumblr.com/)! You can reblog the images on tumblr [here](http://dreadelion.tumblr.com/post/128251955142). She did an amazing job, and I couldn't be happier! The art is not safe for work!
> 
> Thank you to [uniqueinalltheworld](http://archiveofourown.org/users/uniqueinalltheworld/profile) for beta'ing this story. Thank you to the Minibang mod for running this event, and being super helpful with all the stages. Thank you to my various friends for the encouragement, even when you didn't know what you were encouraging!

**“The most important thing in communication is hearing what isn't being said. The art of reading between the lines is a life long quest of the wise.” - Shannon L. Alder**

He didn't want to stop, never wanted to stop in these new found moments, even when it was almost overwhelming to be so completely open to another person. The very first time, the Iron Bull had given him a watchword after a kiss, before his hands had begun to roam; Dorian was not unfamiliar with the concept, but they had only ever been supplied when the sex was going to be rough, or would use rope or whips or pain, or any manner of devious activity he'd tried that might have tugged a 'stop' from him on reflex that he didn't truly mean to say. The closest they got the first night to anything like that was the Bull holding his wrists in one hand, pressing them into the pillows above his head, but he had still given him that tool to stop it if he needed.

Overcautious, Dorian had thought. Better to be safe than risk something that would sour every relationship that involved a sexual dalliance. The Iron Bull could break him, could hurt him if he wasn't mindful. Bull was huge, strong and solid, and though Dorian was no waif, he still felt his body bow to the strain of being under the Bull's hand, under his body, stretched around his cock.

It took him a long time – several weeks of on-and-off fucking – to realise what he'd missed about the Iron Bull and who he was, mired in all his misconceptions about qunari; the Iron Bull knew this, keenly, and the watchword was because he thought the risk of mundane sex to be just as high as anything more adventurous.

He wondered, fleetingly, between the mind-emptying pleasure of the Bull's fingers rubbing his prostate and his mouth around his cock, whether he had ever had a sexual encounter where he didn't calculate that he was a possible risk to his partner. Dorian's breath caught in his chest and he felt his eyes prickled at the thought, the weight of it heavy on him on top of the vulnerability of being fucked so thoroughly. He pressed a hand over his eyes and groaned.

He wondered if the Bull had ever fucked someone he didn't think would need a way to stop him, wondered if he didn't think saying stop would be enough, when Dorian already knew there was nothing to fear. The Iron Bull was nothing like he'd first imagined, thank the Maker for it, since those imaginings were horrible fear-laden stereotypes and propaganda; he took nothing, gave everything, and each time it was almost overwhelming.

“Stop,” he whispered, just as the Bull made another pass over his prostate with his huge fingers, and made Dorian arch his back off the bed.

The Bull pulled off his cock with a wet pop, and slipped his slick finger out, took only a second to process the word, or perhaps it was the tone he responded to. His huge hands spread across his inner thighs, firm and reassuring.

“You okay?”

Dorian exhaled slowly through his nose, and wondered how he had _ever_ been afraid of him. It seemed so ridiculous that he ever thought the Iron Bull could be anything but the best man he'd ever met.

“I'm okay,” he said finally, peeling his hand away from his eyes. “I didn't use the watchword.”

“Stop still means stop.”

“Why do we need a word at all, then?” He asked the question to the ceiling, too afraid of the kindness he knew he'd find in that green eye. He didn't deserve it, especially not for asking such a thing. Annoyance would have been easier, he thought, but there was none in the Bull's voice when he spoke again.

“Because if you say _stop_ , I'm going to ask what's wrong. If you use _katoh_ , we just stop, and I don't ask. And if you ever want saying 'stop' or 'no' to be part of something we try, then you still need to be able to tell me you need out. We can't misunderstand each other with a word like 'katoh'; I can't mishear, or think you're fussing and not meaning it, or ignore it.”

“You wouldn't ignore it,” he said, as his chest tightened.

“No, I won't.”

He nodded, mostly to himself, and finally looked away from the ceiling and at Bull.

“Right.”

The Bull was sat back on his knees, hands still on Dorian's spread thighs, and his expression was even, kind. It was too much, and he looked at the ceiling again. _Maker_ , he didn't deserve it, but he was not a good man, so he wasn't about to stop taking it.

“I'm okay. I'm sorry for the fuss.”

“Don't apologise.” The Bull's voice was probably meant to be soothing, and Dorian was surprised that it actually seemed to work, rather than making him feel patronised. “You never have to apologise for saying stop or katoh, or to telling me to change what I’m doing. I want to do what you want. This isn't any fun if you're not into it, Dorian.”

He huffed a laugh, and it was not an easy sound. “What a novel approach.”

“It's not,” The Bull said evenly. “Every man you ever fucked should have cared whether you were into it or not.”

Dorian didn't say anything, instead followed a swirling wood pattern on the beams above him with his eyes. The men he'd been with in his life had wanted him, and that had been enough. He'd made sure it was enough, because to want more was to live in perpetual disappointment.

“It was enough to have the opportunity,” he admitted. “It didn't much matter if it wasn't any good.”

“Well, that's a southern luxury you should be taking, big guy. I care whether it's good for you.”

Dorian smiled without looking at him. “It is.”

“But I need you to communicate with me to make sure it always is, okay? Do you want to keep going?”

Dorian inhaled slowly, then let the breath out. “Yes.”

“You think you can look at me?”

Dorian lifted his head again, but it was difficult not to look away when faced with that calm patience. He didn't deserve it.

The Bull eased himself up the bed and pressed a few soft kisses along his jaw, at the corner of his mouth, his chin, before he finally kissed his mouth proper. Bull even kissed him with care, and that was strange and could only mean trouble, but he melted into it, kissing back and lifting his hands to Bull's neck.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?”

Dorian kissed him again, putting his answer in the kiss. But the Bull waited, lingering over him until he gave him the verbal clarification he needed to hear.

“Yes. I'm sure.”

“Okay, big guy.”

The Bull pressed two freshly oiled fingers against his hole and swallowed his cock down to the root, and Dorian reached down to grab his horns as he slid inside. It should have been too much, should have hurt, those two fingers that were bigger than any human cock he'd ever taken, but they never had. Even the first night, when they'd been a little tipsy and were unfamiliar with each other's bodies, it had been good.

He came apart under the Bull's ministrations so quickly, overwhelmed by the slide of fingers inside him and the drag of the man's tongue over his cock.

“Bull,” he warned as he pressed his thumbs where skin met horn, worrying the margin as his nerves sang their way past climax. The Bull sucked greedily at him, fingers pressing firm circles over his prostate as he arched his back off the bed, mind empty of everything except the clear, frightening knowledge that it had never felt as good with anyone as the Iron Bull.

The Bull moved up his body, smacking his lips in a satisfied, ridiculous way. “How you doing, Dorian?”

“Finish on my chest.”

The Bull chuckled, moving to straddle his hips. “Does that mean you're good?”

Dorian nodded, an easy motion, and watched through heavy-lidded eyes as the Bull stroked himself to completion, hips jerking and muscles tensing as he striped his stomach with his release. Knowing the man had got so close to his end just by pleasuring Dorian was – well, it was something.

He ran an idle finger through the semen on his belly. “What a mess.”

The Bull hummed, leaning forward to capture the finger in his mouth and lick it clean. “Mess is fun.”

“You're filthy,” Dorian sighed, as the Bull dipped lower to lick at the rest of the mess on Dorian's torso.

“You like it.”

Maker, he did.

\---

It had taken a degree of research and ingenuity to tie the Iron Bull up so thoroughly, not even the diagrams in the most sordid books in Dorian's collection accounting for the Bull's dimensions. Magic had also been involved, but the result was well worth the effort.

“You look a sight, Bull.”

From his place kneeling on the bed his grey skin shone silver and damp in the guttering candlelight, divided up into sections by the stark white rope that had a shimmer all its own from the enchantment placed on it. Regular rope would have had no hope of holding the Bull in place, but he could struggle all he liked against this and not be able to free himself.

His arms were tied intricately behind his back, rope criss-crossing his shoulders and torso. His legs were folded up and tied with his feet against his backside, and thighs straining under the rope. His cock and balls were framed beautifully, secured by loops of rope nestled under the head of his shaft, keeping it pressed against his belly, precome smeared and dripping over the rope.

“You're so hard,” Dorian teased, “whoever would have thought a little bit of rope would have you so excited?”

It wasn't a fair assessment, really, since Dorian had been teasing the Bull most of the night, bringing him close to finish and not letting him tip over that final edge for hours. He looked so beautifully wrecked and aching, low growls and rumbling vocalisations the only thing he seemed able to manage. He gave a token struggle, the delicate rope immoveable.

“I told you, you can't break this enchantment through sheer force of will.”

The Bull looked as if he had a retort ready, but instead he huffed out a breath that communicated his growing frustration. He had been so _good_ , hadn't said a word since the groan that had sounded suspiciously like 'please' enough that it had caused Dorian to put an unpleasant but harmless static shock against his cock.

The no-talking rule had been mainly to Dorian's benefit, as the Bull's voice was a fantastic way for him to lose focus, give up on his plans and beg the man to fuck him while he said filthy things in his ear. Without such a distraction, he'd only had to deal with the raging erection that tying up the Bull and teasing his cock with talented fingers had given him. He'd already spent once, tipped the trussed-up Bull onto his side so he could paint stripes over his face. He crawled onto the bed beside him after that, licked away every trace of himself from the Bull's mouth, chin, jaw, cheek, even a splatter of semen in the scarred place his other eye had once been. Then he'd finally kissed him, deep and languid and fucking perfect; because the Bull _trusted_ him, was hard and willing and trembling with need under his ministrations.

Dorian rolled his shoulders and stretched, mostly to tease his lover, who undoubtedly ached to do the same. He was upright again, knees at the edge of the bed, taking measured breaths in and out through his nose. The fight had gone out of him almost an hour ago, no more bared teeth or filthy grins, replaced with a weary haze of arousal. He knew that feeling well, had been the recipient of the Bull's teasing many a time, understood how freeing it could feel to become docile and pliant for someone else.

“You've done so well.”

Dorian stroked both his hands down the sides of the Bull's neck, pressed his thumbs into the thick muscle. He tilted the man's head forward and kissed between his horns, lips lingering against his warm flesh.

“I'm going to give you your end, Bull, and I want you to be quiet. Anything above a breath, and I won't be happy, alright?”

It wasn't much of a threat, but Dorian hoped the Bull was aching and needy enough to take it as one. He reached down for his lover's balls, and found them heavy and tight, swollen huge with arousal. His breath hitched, but Bull didn't even groan as Dorian rolled them in his hand.

“Andraste's silky smalls, you're ready to burst.” He gave a squeeze, feeling the shape inside the heated flesh, and chased a fleeting thought of how they felt slapping against his arse when the Bull fucked him. “You think I could bring you off just squeezing your balls?”

The Bull's eye closed as he exhaled, which was still just a breath, so Dorian rewarded his silence with a roll of his palm as the other hand tipped his chin up for a kiss. The response was languid, like his usually sharp brain had slowed to the pace of thick treacle, and there was something about being given the power to do that to him that made Dorian shiver.

“No tricks now,” Dorian said gently, and he let the Bull rest his forehead against his shoulder as he continued to palm and squeeze him, thumb occasionally brushing the underside of his cock. “You can finish, you don't have to hold back anymore, I won't make you stop.”

The Bull whined as his body began to tense, but the sound was between lips and teeth pressed firmly together, so Dorian wasn't going to count it against him. He dropped his other hand and palmed the man's cock where it was secured against his belly, pulling the smooth callouses of the bottom of his palm along the sensitive flesh.

He came with an exhale of breath that sounded like it was punched out of him, shuddering with each spurt of seed against his belly, over Dorian's hand, down his cock and balls. There was always a lot of it, but after being denied for so long it seemed to go on for minutes, and Dorian palmed him through it until the very last weak dribble left the slit of his cock.

He took a step back, and the Bull slowly lifted his head and looked blearily at him as he began to lick his copious ejaculate off his fingers.

“You want to keep going?”

The Bull closed his eye, inhaled and held the breath in his chest for a second, two, then exhaled. His mouth moved as if he were about to speak, but his lips stuck together and nothing came out. Dorian waited, licking a last line of semen off his thumb.

“Katoh.”

It wasn't said urgently, but it was clear that the Bull was calling an end. He fetched a mug of water first, and eased it against the Bull's lips.

“Take a drink. There we go.”

Dorian set the cup down on the bedside table and took up a small knife, the blade shimmering with the same enchanted iridescence of the rope, and quickly moved back to where the Bull sagged in his restraints.

“Okay, I've got you.”

He pressed the knife under one of the stretches of rope across the Bull's thigh, and sliced effortlessly through what the Bull hadn't been able to budge. He cut the rope away from his legs quickly, then clambered onto the bed and sliced right down the middle of the knotwork binding his arms, each knot popping open in a most satisfying way under the strain of Bull's arms.

“Shit,” the Bull groaned as his shoulders slumped forward. Dorian ran a hand down the newly exposed skin of the middle of his back, where his arms had been tied.

Dorian feared he might topple forward off the bed, so he grabbed the tatters of rope and eased his arms out, then climbed off the bed again and pressed him down to lay on his back. Dorian helped him unbend his stiff legs to hang over the side, cutting and loosening and pulling away the ropes until they were a heap of glittering remnants on the floor of the room, except for one knot that remained.

He got a damp cloth ready and returned to hover over the Bull, carefully cutting the knot that fixed the length of rope around the head of the man's cock. He unwound the rope, and the Bull made a sound of discomfort as the impressions the cord had left around his girth were revealed, red and angry and probably the only place he'd bruise from it.

“I've got you, Bull.”

He wiped away all the semen covering him before it could dry uncomfortably on his skin, and as careful as he was handling the Bull's softening cock, he still groaned with discomfort.

“I'm sorry, I know you're sensitive.”

He laid the Bull's prick down gently on his belly and turned his attention to smoothing his fingers over the red marks the ropes had left criss-crossing his skin. The rope had been soft, and shouldn't chafe, but he checked all the places he could anyway, carefully moving around the Bull's body.

Eventually, when he was satisfied that none of the marks were too sore or prone to bruising, Dorian eased himself onto the bed alongside the Bull, along the right side so his lover would be able to see him if he opened his eye. He ran a hand across his belly, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deliberately and evenly.

He'd never seen the Bull like he was, lost somewhere Dorian had taken him and slowly, slowly surfacing, following Dorian's coaxing back to where he waited for him. He kept his hand moving slowly across his torso, gentle over the rope marks. Minutes stretched out, but Dorian stayed alert, waiting.

“My knee hurts.”

The Bull's voice was level, but tired, and he peeked his eye open at Dorian.

“Do you want me to massage it?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, then: “if you want.”

He eased himself up to sit, body looking a strange mix of boneless and stiff, and Dorian passed him the cup of water again. He drained it and Dorian poured another, and he took several more deep gulps before he seemed satisfied. Dorian finished off the last half a cup himself, all the while stroking his hand along the expanse of the Bull's back.

“Lie down, Bull, I'll massage your knee.”

After one, two aborted attempts at lifting his knee to help leverage himself up the bed, the Bull stood instead, and walked around so he could deposit himself on it properly.

Dorian let the Fade pool in his fingertips, in his palm, creating warmth there. He made sure the Bull was watching and could see what he was doing before he put his hands on him and began to knead the scarred, slightly swollen skin of his knee.

“Maybe you were tied up too long.”

“Nah, it was good.” The Bull still sounded tired, but much more lucid than he'd looked during their sexual adventure. “It's just a little sore. My balls hurt worse, holding out that long.”

“I can massage those, if you like.”

The Bull laughed weakly. “Would probably be better to ice them.”

“I can do that, too.”

The Bull just huffed, and reached out a hand to card his fingers through Dorian's hair as he pressed his thumbs against his bum knee. “You have fun?”

“Did you?”

“Never been tied up with something I couldn't get out of, no matter how hard I tried. I really gave it a go, seeing if I could bust those ropes; nothing.” He turned Dorian's face towards him, and looked at him with a gaze full of affection, and a little bit of surprise.

“Did that bother you?” Dorian was careful to form the words with the care he felt, with no judgement and no surprise.

The Bull managed a smirk. “Only in a sexy way. I knew you'd stop when I used the word, so it was all good.”

“They were comfortable?”

The Bull laughed. “Not after however long I was tied up. But that comes with the territory.”

“Maybe a different enchantment next time would make them more comfortable.”

“They were fine. You ever think maybe I like rope marks as much as you do?”

“But you have nowhere to hide them,” Dorian said as his hand passed over his knee again. “Everyone will know someone tied you up.”

“Everyone will know _you_ tied me up.”

Dorian felt himself flush at the mere thought of people knowing that, but not out of shame or embarrassment. The idea of the Iron Bull letting people see that _he_ had let  Dorian tie him up was thrilling.

He leant to kiss the Bull's knee, signalling the end of the massage. Too long could make it even more sore, but he had much practice at the technique.

“You should sleep, Bull.”

“Yeah,” he eased himself down without argument. “You've worn me out.”

Smiling, Dorian crawled up the bed and brought the sheets with him, slotted himself into his spot along the Bull's left side.

“You in my blind spot again?” he teased sleepily, and another Dorian might have engaged him in the increasingly routine lecture that came with the observation, about how Dorian had no plans for either of them to die naked in bed together. As it was, the Bull's eye was already closed, his body already slipping into sleep.

It was with a thrill of warmth and affection that Dorian was reminded that he had done that, he had given him that pleasure and ache, worn him out and left him smiling and dozing; not only that, but he'd given the Bull something he'd never experienced before. That sure was something.

\---

Dorian's skin was warm and soft underneath the Iron Bull's hand, thighs solid and muscled, sturdy, usually, though Bull had gotten very good at making them unsteady, shaking. He pressed his mouth in slow kisses along the soft inner thigh, from beside his knee to the crease where his thigh met his hip, then the same on the the opposite side.

He was so beautiful like this, so relaxed in the Bull's bed, his hair mussed and his makeup long gone, lazy and easy and smiling down at him along the length of his body.

The Bull nuzzled at his mostly flaccid cock. “You okay?” Usually Dorian was much more eager, much quicker to get hard, but he could soon rectify the sluggish pace of their lazy evening.

“Yes.” he said, and then after a frown and a beat, “katoh.”

The Bull eased himself back onto his knees, taking his hands off Dorian. The man's tone hadn't seemed distressed, but it was still a surprise, and a ball of worry settled in his chest; what had he missed?

“I'm fine,” Dorian sighed, and sounded annoyed, more than anything. “I'm just not- I don't really want to have sex.”

“Okay.” The Bull watched him, monitoring the discomfort the man was letting show, or couldn't hide. He recounted what had led up to this moment; the undressing, the kisses, the teasing words. Dorian had instigated, had been receptive, but Bull might have missed something he should have seen that told him things weren't as he assumed.

Dorian made a face. “I did, when you started touching, but I don't now. I don't know what's the matter with me.”

The discomfort was not for him, then, the Bull realised with only a brief sensation of relief, which turned to worry when the logical conclusion was that it meant Dorian's discomfort was with himself.

“You're allowed to change your mind, sometimes it happens.”

“You don't mind?”

 _Of course not_ , he almost said, because he wished that Dorian considered it a basic standard, for someone not to be hurt by a person changing their mind. “No, I don't mind. There's nothing wrong with you.”

Even the fact that Dorian had asked was troubling. He knew what they had was something different to what either of them had ever had before, but he didn't want it to be something that made Dorian ask him if it was _okay_ that he didn't want to fuck. Dorian should never need to ask that, because it should have been something he knew he didn't have to hesitate about refusing.

“I just feel a bit silly. You were down there, doing a fine job that would usually work wonders...” He shrugged. “Could we perhaps keep going? Without a sexual conclusion in mind? The touching was still.. I mean, if you'd rather, I could manage it, I suppose.”

The unease in Dorian's voice, the unsure way in which he asked to be touched with no sexual intent made the Bull's chest ache. The man should not be scared to ask for something so simple, and he thought a single crude curse for all the people who had ever taught him he wasn't allowed to have a simple touch for the sake of it. He wondered if he'd ever let the man believe that was true with him, too.

“I only want to have sex with you when you're completely up for it, Dorian.” He put his hands on the man's knees, thumbed across the place where his thigh and calf were pressed together. “If you just want to touch, or kiss, you only have to say. Whatever you want.”

“Kissing does sound good.” He reached out, and the Bull allowed himself to be pulled down over him, settling between his knees and eased onto his forearms. His own erection was flagging, though still noticeable, but Dorian still moved his body into the shape of the Bull's, settling in an intimate embrace.

Dorian kissed him sweetly, fingers dancing down his torso, and it was good. It was wonderful, just to be with him, and he had to make sure Dorian knew he could have as much or as little as he wanted. He kissed back, drawing the shallow but languid exchanges out, garnering little appreciative noises from Dorian.

Eventually The Bull eased himself from between Dorian's legs and settled beside him. He rested his cheek on his fist, looking down at Dorian's relaxed, faintly smiling face, and ran his free hand along his arm.

Dorian tilted his head slightly. “Do qunari kiss?”

“Oh, no. I didn't learn what kissing was until a beautiful human farm girl taught me under the shade of an oak tree at sunset.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You're mocking me.”

“You're the one who asked if qunari kiss.”

“Fine. Tell me about your first kiss, then.”

The Bull hummed at the memory, fingers dancing slow patterns over Dorian's skin. “It was with a boy in my dorm. I was eight, maybe nine? We were all playing a game of chase, and if you were caught you had to give the one who caught you a kiss.”

“And the Tamassrans let you play this?”

“Sure. Kissing isn't banned under the Qun. Context is just different.”

“Of course,” Dorian said, but his brow had creased with confusion.

“It depended on the Tamassran, but her affections sometimes included kisses. Young kids kiss their friends. The game would be called 'tama chasing' in common; we grew up knowing certain kinds of kisses happened with the Tamas, like we learned that sex happened with the Tamas, whenever we were old enough for the talk. Part of being a kid is playing pretend, trying to copy adults, so of course qunari kids play at being tama.”

“Did you kiss a lot of kids in this game?”

“I was a very good Tama,” the Bull said, grinning at him.

He lowered his face and kissed Dorian, delighted when he lifted a hand to the side of his face and scratched lightly with his nails just behind his ear. He moved into the touch with a low, rumbling sound of appreciation.

“What about you, what was your first kiss like?”

“There was a boy in one of the circles. Arenic, his name was. We were fifteen, good friends for the time I was there. He had a gift for spirit magic, the healing arts. I did not, but I was still at the age where I couldn’t accept my own weakness, and he offered instruction.”

Dorian hummed, scratching at the Bull's neck again as he recalled the memory.

“He was pretty, I remember. Dark, dark skin, a head full of these tiny little braids with a small blue jewel fixed at each end. They'd make these soft clicks together around his shoulders; I liked the sound. I was rather taken with him, and I believe him with me. One day I asked if he'd like to kiss me, and he said he would.”

“Who wouldn't?”

“Quite. We were in a quiet corner of the library, and we kissed. He was always so popular with the girls, I think he had more of an idea of what he was doing than I did. Adolescent dalliances between boys weren't unheard of, and depending on the Enchanter it might have been tolerated, but nothing ever came of it again.”

He sighed, but he was smiling. It was nice to hear something of Dorian's past that wasn't too mired in Tevinter bullshit that it could be recalled without pain.

“What about the first kiss you had that wasn't a child's game? Was it with a Tamassran?”

“You ask me that, you're asking about the first time I had sex.”

Dorian shrugged. “I play fair, I'll tell you about my first time.”

“Anyone who plays you at chess knows that's not true.”

“ _Sometimes_ I play fair,” he amended. “I always play fair in the bedroom.”

The Bull raised an eyebrow. “Debatable. That lightning trick isn't very sporting.”

“And yet you always peak so hard you look as if you'll pass out when I do it.”

He pulled the Bull down for another kiss, this time letting his tongue sneak past his lips to taunt his own into responding. He was grinning coyly when he pulled away.

“So, your first proper kiss? Your first time?”

“Qunari grow up knowing what the Tamassrans do, and once we hit age of majority we're told we can go see them. Most people end up going in the year after they hit majority. I got curious, so I went a few months after I'd aged up. There's lots of forms to fill out, and usually you only go if you have a need, but I guess they allow for first time curiosity.”

“Paperwork?”

“Sure. Everything's regulated, they know how many times you visit and for what.”

“Qun efficiency stretches to sex, then.”

“Yeah. The first time there's a lot of explaining, she explains what she does, when you might come, what it's all about. It's all about sex being just another drive, and Tamassrans relieve your sexual energy to get you back on balance. I think the first time they expect you to say yes even if you don't know what you need.”

The Bull lifted his hand and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, taking a moment to sort his memories into an order that suited his retelling. Some things were clearer in his mind, but didn't apply until later in the tale.

“I think she was aqun-athlok, I’d figured because she was built like a battering ram. The Tamassran's don't really have _shape_ in the same way you can pretty much tell a labourer or a soldier from sight, but she stood out; flat chest, big arms, a few healed over weapon wounds. I remember the tips of her horns were painted blue. Older than me, but younger than I expected when I thought of Tamassrans. She showed me how to apply vitaar.”

“Sex and poison sound like a great mix.”

“Nah, not this stuff. The sex vitaar is just a formality, a way of showing respect to the Tamassran you're visiting. It's not as intricate as battle vitaar, usually just something on the arm or chest.”

“So, she painted you, then kissed you?”

“Oh, yeah. Touched me, too. Let's just say, I had to work on my stamina.”

Dorian laughed, easing his hand along the Bull's shoulder. “It really does sound so efficient.”

“It is. That's the point. No fuss, they just give you what your body and mind needs, and you get back on it. There's a lot of ritual, but it's not that complicated. You fill out the paperwork, have to bathe before you see them, apply vitaar, you're meant to meditate. Sometimes the things they do to you are like meditation, too. Less of that in the south, it's more complicated, but it's more fun.”

“And me? I'm not Southern.”

He grinned. “You've got that Tevinter deviance going for you, _that's_ a lot of fun.”

Dorian sniffed, doing his best show of haughty. “I do try.”

“Your turn.” The Bull ran his thumb over the man's jaw, at the barest whisper of stubble there.

“Yes. Well, I was _not_ past the age of majority. Neither was he, mind. It was just a fumble in a Circle garden, in some bushes. I can't even remember his name! It was a Circle that wasn't segregated by gender, so we had classes and social times together. The gardens were known as the place for young couples to go to have some private time, lots of good places to hide.”

The Bull tried to imagine Dorian as a teenager, smooth-faced and not yet grown into his height, awkward and desperately trying to emulate the graceful masculinity he would one day master.

“I was known to have no interest in girls. That's not to say my interest in boys was known, but sometimes a lack of interest is enough to start a silent conversation with someone across a library. Neither of us were patient or skilled, but a quick stroke off behind a bush soon saw us both sated.”

“Just the one time with him?”

“Oh, yes. He got caught with another boy some time after that, and he was decided to be the instigator and removed. Probably moved to another Circle with stricter discipline; the kind of place my parents would send me, eventually.”

“Because you were a terror.”

“I was,” he said, proud grin sliding into position on his handsome face. “My parents thought I would grow out of that, and my predilections, with strict enough instruction.”

He could envision that rather easily, a young and wild Dorian still growing into his style, navigating Tevinter adolescence.

“Now look at you: saving the world and getting cozy in a qunari's bed.”

“I'd say it worked out pretty well, all things considered. I do quite like to think of my ancestors turning in their graves.”

The Bull grinned. “Don't you burn your dead?”

“Well, 'turning in their urns' sounds _ridiculous_. Do kiss me again, won't you?”

“Absolutely,” The Bull murmured, and dipped his head.

\---

Tying Dorian up was a lot of fun.

The Iron Bull was very good at what he did, and had a vast experience base to draw from. Even when he didn't, he was usually the kind of man who could muddle through. It was nice, though, to be at a point where practice was part of the routine they had.

Dorian frowned and strained against the intricate knotwork around his bared wrists, twisting them every way he could until he settled and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“I don't like the big knot on the inside. It digs in, it'll chafe after long.”

The Bull eased himself up from the workbench where he was working on a cipher for Leliana's spies, and sat himself on the bed in front of Dorian, who was lounging against the headboard with his bound wrists in his lap, and it sure was something to see him looking so at ease with it. He tugged his knots loose and freed him from the ropes, then lifted one wrist to inspect it.

“Not comfortable?”

“You know a bit of discomfort can work for me, but I'd rather not have my wrists rubbed raw.”

“Fair enough. I've got another I could show you.” The Bull brushed his lips against the soft flesh on the inside of one wrist, and then the other, and Dorian's fingers flexed then relaxed against his jaw.

“Go ahead.”

He went for a sturdy knot this time, one that kept his palms against the opposite forearm. With Dorian's arms at the front is wasn't a hard position to maintain, but he knew if he used it with his arms at his back he could put strain on his shoulders and have good leverage to move him around by the arm bindings.

“Do you use 'katoh' for everybody?”

“I ask people if they have a word they use, if they're awkward like you, I use katoh.” The Bull looked up from his work to catch Dorian's gaze. “You can choose another word if you want. Or more than one, if you want to do it by degrees, for slow down, stop that, stop everything. Whatever works for you.”

Dorian cocked his head. “Katoh has worked so far. I was only curious.”

“Most people don't know enough Qunlat for it to be a familiar.”

“It means 'stop', I assume?”

The Bull moved Dorian's arms into a better position for the ropes he was working on. “More like 'end'.”

“Did the Tamassrans have a similar system?”

“They liked using animals as watchwords. Nobody expects you to start saying 'pig' in the middle of things.”

“You've not fucked many vints, then.”

The statement wasn't without humour, but it was a fragile sort of thing. His stomach jolted all the same as he pulled the rope under Dorian's arms. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, doesn't matter. Sometimes my bitterness overcomes my sense of timing.”

“Bitter about what?”

Dorian looked at him, eyebrows arched lightly in a way that the Bull knew took as acknowledgement of his pushing, gently, for him to share. Dorian looked back at the developing ropework before he spoke again.

“To some people, secrets are inherently sordid. For every man like me, who wants to pursue men without shame, there are three men who _fuck_ men, but do not consider themselves like me. They're happy to do it in secret, but my desire to live openly the way I am is _abhorrent_. As if I should be happy to live in nothing but secrets and shame.”

He was much too casual, considering what he'd said, and it was something of a tangent, but it was rare for Dorian to venture such information, and the Bull didn't want to discourage him by leading him back on track too quickly.

“You've fucked a lot of shitty guys?”

“Not all of them were bad men, but they come with many rules and caveats. Some don't like to kiss, or talk, or look at your face. Some degrade you, as if they're not there under their own power. Mostly, it's the simple fact that it can't last, that any connection is fleeting and shallow. A watchword is a luxury one doesn't usually find in those fleeting moments.”

“But you have used them before.”

“Oh, yes. When I started frequenting the slum brothels, hoping the scandal would drive my father away from his plans for me, it allowed me to pursue more... complex desires.”

“I bet Tevinter has some interesting bordellos.”

“Oh, absolutely. But those were not the ones I used. Nothing owned by nobles, staffed with sex slaves. Not that I'm saying that soporati brothels are a bastion of freedom and equality, but I didn't want to fuck slaves. And not because I was a good man, but because to my naïve mind a whore _could_ refuse me, if he wanted.”

The Bull didn't tell Dorian it was okay, because it was not what the man needed to hear. Instead, he tugged on the ropes binding his forearms together, pulling him out of the moment before he could spiral into shame.

“How does it feel?”

“Comfortable.” Dorian moved experimentally. “Restrictive, though. I could sit like this a while.”

“How would you feel about this, but with your hands behind your back?”

“Even more restrictive.”

The Bull yanked the ropes and tugged Dorian's body forward. “I could hold you by the arms as I fucked you.”

“Could?” Dorian grinned at him. “Should.”

“Will.” He pulled Dorian forward until he could easily close the distance between them and kiss him, barest tease of lips against lips. “When did you find out you liked being tied up, hm?”

Dorian stole another kiss before the Bull eased him back down, and ran his hands over the ropework appraisingly. Dorian seemed to be considering the question in the air between them as the Bull began to untie the ropes, committing the ties and placements to memory, the best ways to create it, and the most efficient way to undo it.

“I read about it in a book that would put Varric's worst to shame.”

The Bull grinned at him. “Don't think I don't already know the dirty books you like to read.”

“This one sure was something. Something about a handsome Soporati, captured by a rich Magister who indulged all his hidden desires.”

The Bull laughed. “Doesn't sound that filthy.”

“Oh, it wasn't, in hindsight. But even the most mundane sex between men is much more deviant than any amount of rope or leather. The Magister tied up the Soporati so he could have his wicked way with him, and I was rather taken with the idea. Not long later I sought out the same in a brothel, had a man tie me up.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

The last of the ropes came away from Dorian's arms, and he stretched them out of the position they'd been held in.

“Oh, yes, he was very good. It was a simple exchange, he tied my hands to the headboard and teased me, while I couldn't make him go any faster than he wanted.”

“Did you have a word that time?”

“No. I used that establishment several times, they didn't use them unless you were inclined towards something a little more intense.”

The Bull tried not to frown. It wasn't his place to judge how someone did their job, but the thought of Dorian tied up without a clear signal to end the activity didn't sit right with him.

“Do you have anything you could try on my ankles?” Dorian asked, lifting a delicate foot and wiggling his toes at the Bull. He snatched the foot out of the air and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the heel and then his big toe.

“Yeah.”

Dorian eased himself back, pliant as the Bull pulled his feet into his lap, and he wondered faintly if Dorian had been as relaxed as he was the other times he'd been tied up, by other men. He hoped so; he wanted to give that to him, but he didn't want to be the only one who ever had.

“Where did you learn to tie people up?”

“Here and there.”

Dorian was learning him as fast as the Bull was him, in kind. “I'm not going to lose my head if you tell me the Ben-Hassrath taught you this.”

“Some of it. You learn how to use ropes to bind people into positions that put stress on the body and will get someone to talk, so some of them are adaptable. Some qunari ceremonial gear has decorative rope work, too. Add that to a bunch of other things I've picked up, and I know my way around rope. You'd be surprised how many people want the freedom of being tied up.”

“Freedom.”

Dorian stretched his arms, then linked his hands behind his head to watch Bull work at the ropes around his ankles. “There is a freedom in giving responsibility over to someone else, even for a little time. Getting tied up by prostitutes was actually the first time I _trusted_ someone I had sex with.”

“Yeah?”

“I was paying for a service, and I trusted them to supply it. It wasn't... it was more than I'd had before. I couldn't trust men, and I don't suppose they trusted me either. Both parties risked too much for a few moments of pleasure, but something that couldn't last wasn't worth ruin over.”

The knots he was binding Dorian's ankles with was complex, covering the heel and down the foot some way, but Dorian let him work without complaint. At the beginning of them he was sure Dorian would have only grudgingly agreed to practice, and complained regularly throughout it, but the days and months had seen more changes than the Bull could have anticipated. Dorian had slept in his own rooms only a handful of times within the last months, and it seemed to be used for book storage more than it was actual living.

Everything that made a room more than a place to sleep had slowly migrated to the Bull's room. First a mirror and an ornate box full of powders and oils and paints, placed without ceremony, so Dorian could fix himself up after he'd started staying the night. Books came at a trickle, slowly building until Dorian had reclaimed two older, but still serviceable bookshelves from the library for the room.

“That's not how I trust you.”

The Bull's thumb brushed the arch of Dorian's foot as he wound the rope over, under, hold, through. He looked up, and Dorian seemed to be trying to see how he'd taken the words.

“How do you trust me?”

Dorian swallowed, but kept his gaze steady.

“I know you'd honour the watchword, but not simply because it's in your interest to do it. I trust you to do it because it actually _matters_ to you that I'm-” He waved a hand, lips forming more words that never came.

The Bull lifted Dorian's bound feet and bent to kiss the top of each, just above the toes where strong tendons pressed up against the skin.

“You matter to me, Dorian.”

Dorian smiled, eyes crinkling and the press of his tongue between his teeth, slightly bashful and flushed at the cheeks but, more important than anything else, he so clearly _believed_ the Iron Bull's words.

“You've proved yourself a better man than I could have imagined when I met you.”

“I could say the same for you, 'vint.”

Dorian smirked, and kicked out at Bull's jaw, glancing a blow with his toes. The force barely turned Bull's head. He grabbed his feet again and kissed the underside, first one, then the other.

“I was unfair in my early assessments. I hope you know I'm sorry for it.”

The Bull shrugged. “You didn't know me then. You had to feel me out.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Ugh.”

“And you didn't waste much time, did you?”

“Sometimes I think every moment I spent not _feeling you out_ was a waste.”

“Nothing is a waste.” The Bull rubbed his thumbs over Dorian's ankles, above the ropes circling them. “Besides, you've more than made up for lost time.”

He leered and Dorian laughed, a free and musical sound that lacked the guarded edge it often held. A sound for him, for them alone. Taking the time to discover that was not a waste.

\---

Dorian knew he was dreaming, because everything was so crisp and clear, so colourful that it was too perfect to be real. The collection of focus crystals and pretty gemstones that had been gathering on the shelves in the room they now all but shared glowed eerily in the half-dark, and the guttering candlelight cast shadows that were too still. The air felt too thick.

The mattress was lumpy underneath his back; he'd slept so often on the Bull's lumpy bedding that once he'd been badgered into requisitioning a new one, Dorian still anticipated the feel of the former, and was always a little surprised and relieved to not spend an uncomfortable night with strange lumps digging into him. Whatever was shaping the Fade, be it spirit or demon or his own mind, that lumpy mattress was etched into the memory of the room, and enough to give it away as unreal.

The vision of the Iron Bull was more real than waking, too; larger, broader, scars deeper and smile more dashing as he crawled up Dorian's body. He dreamed of the Bull often, but usually the dreams were composites of memories, cocoons in the Fade that Dorian would only half-remember in the morning, the safety of the warm Tevinter sun replaced by visions of the Iron Bull. This could be a memory too; he'd been in the position with Bull many times, but there was something about the sharp, clearness of it that lacked the sense that he had created it himself, but that it was an image drawn _from_ him, _for_ him.

“You want me to fuck you, Dorian?”

Dorian didn't answer, even as his body arched into the touch that the Bull – the simulacrum of the Bull – dragged over his torso. The touch moved down to his cock, and if he been unsure before the nature of the dream, that would have made things clear: the Bull, or Dorian's memory of him, would not keep going if he didn't answer.

“You want to be mine?”

Dorian laughed. As if whatever this was could trick him into giving himself over to it. The thing grinned with the Bull's mouth, and even though he knew it was not really him, it still made his chest flutter with affection and desire.

The first desire demon he'd ever encountered had tried to seduce him, promising the sex he so wished to be able to partake in, promised he could have it for all his life. He had not been swayed then, and the demon he suspected to be trying to woo him now must not have been very strong to be attempting such a heavy-handed seduction.

“No foreplay?” Dorian couldn't help himself, and whatever had shaped the Bull's face smirked down at him as it moved between his legs, cock hard and heavy against his own. He wasn't scared, even if the impending dream sex wasn't of his making. A desire demon wouldn't hurt him if it planned to possess him willingly, and whatever happened in the Fade was not real, true pain.

“I'm going to make you mine.”

One huge, strong hand grabbed him by the throat and squeezed, hard. Dorian couldn't even gasp, and he reached up to try and wrench the hand away, the knowledge that this wasn't real not enough to stop the dream pain manifesting, or to stop him seeing Bull's face staring down at him with such raw _hate_ as he choked him.

“Do you know often I've thought of killing you this way?” The demon – most definitely a demon – asked him. He wanted to destroy it for using a voice that didn't belong to it. “Choking the life out of you, fucking your dying body?”

“No!” Dorian convulsed against the hand that was still squeezing. In reality, he would have been unconscious by now, or his windpipe crushed, but in the dream the pain bore down on him, the edges of his vision went dark, but he was present, unable to fall away and back into waking.

“I'm going to enjoy you fighting. Proved right all along, you are a _snake_.”

He hadn't been concentrating on the other hand, didn't notice it until the demon pushed his – its – blunt fingers against his entrance; Dorian yelled to realise what was coming. It burned and stretched and hurt, and the only thing he could think was that of _course_ it hurt, the Bull was _huge_. He could still sob even with the Bull's hand around his throat, squeezing, unmoved by his clawing hands or feet that tried to kick him.

But it wasn't the Bull, and the Bull would _never_ hurt him. It was no desire demon, either, because no demon who used seduction would fuck him dry and expect to convince him to give himself over to it. But it _would_ hurt, he knew, he wasn't stretched or slick and this Bull-demon wanted to hurt him, and he was too scared to disconnect himself from the unreal sensations.

He couldn't breathe but he couldn't pass out, and whatever the demon was trying to push inside him may as well have been a white-hot iron for the pain of it. It wasn't really happening, but it _hurt_.

“I've always wanted you like this.” The demon grabbed one of his legs and bent it painfully against Dorian's chest, opening him up, the crude intrusion of fingers replaced with something far larger. “Thought about holding you down and taking you so you'll be tight like you were once, before you let all those nameless men fuck you.”

_He does?_ His addled, overwhelmed mind couldn't help but consider the demon's insults. _He thinks of me like that?_

No, the Bull had never judged him for his past, and the only shame be carried about it was his own, the last lingering sense of it he couldn't shake. It was clearly enough for the demon to latch to.

“Stop!”

He called lightning to his hand and directed it at the Bull's head, but the demon only leant down and sunk its teeth into his neck, pressing more insistently against him. They were the Bull's sighs and the Bull's noises, and he wanted to rip out of his own skin at the sound being used for this violation.

“You know how to stop. Tell me you're mine, and I'll stop.”

Dorian sobbed and tried to kick out, scrabbling at the hand around his throat again. Being the Bull's should not cost him anything, should not cost him _this_. But he wanted to be the Bull's own, to belong only to him, and maybe this was the price. Maybe he could live with it, maybe after the Bull was done be would be sweet again, maybe he wouldn't have to hurt him again...

“You'll never have to feel this again, Dorian, if you are mine. You'll never know pain, or fear, or hurt. Say you'll be mine.”

This was _not_ the Iron Bull, but the Bull's voice and his body and his smell were tearing him apart.

“Katoh!” he cried, because it was the only thing he could think of that could stop this. The Bull didn't stop, and with a violent thrust, breeched his unwilling body. “Katoh! Katoh!”

He set the bed on fire, the room burning away to familiar sickly green with it, and the fire caught in the Bull's ribcage. The flames tore through his body and the Bull screamed high and eerie and not off the waking world, but didn't stop pushing forwards. His hand didn't stop squeezing, even as flesh melted away from his skull, thick and acrid in Dorian's nose, in his mouth. He could feel his own skin bubble and blister under the heat, and mercifully quickly couldn't tell the difference between tearing pain of the violation, and burning alive.

“KATOH! KATOH! BULL STOP! KATOH!”

All at once the Bull was gone, his body wasn't on fire and he could breathe, cool air hitting him all over.

“Dorian?”

He scrambled away from that voice, calling forth fire into his hand, because the demon was still there, huge and familiar next to him, and—

“Dorian, you were dreaming, stay calm!”

The mattress below him was soft and comfortable. Dorian let the fire go, plunging the room into darkness again. He touched his neck, but the skin didn't hurt, there were no bruises forming, and he could breathe without trouble. His body had the phantom feeling of being fucked hours ago, but it was a familiar, pleasant sensation, not as if he'd been fucked dry and ripped apart.

It hadn't been real.

He lit a small ball of light and tethered it to the world so the soft glow illuminated the bed. The Bull was perched on the other side, putting as much space between them as he could without leaving.

“I'll always stop, Dorian.”

“What?”

“You were saying the watchword in your sleep. Shouting it. I figured you dreamed of me hurting you.”

Dorian groaned, drawing his knees up to his chest and pressing a hand over his eyes. “Not you. A demon. One of fear, I think. A fear demon that looked like you.”

He wasn't surprised when he began to cry, letting the little magical light he'd cast flicker into nothing, as if the dark would save him from the shame of it. He could still see the Bull's face looking at him with nothing but hate as he choked him.

He swallowed down a sob. “It tried to possess me.”

“But it didn't.”

“No.”

He reached blindly across the bed, and wondered how good that one eye could see in the dark when the Bull eased himself back into bed, into Dorian's space. He sniffled and curled into the comforting shape of him, large arms wrapping around him and pulling him against his chest.

He held him while he cried, shamed tears for a violation that hadn't even been real by most people's reasoning.

“The demon hurt you.”

The Bull's voice was so careful, so gentle, so unlike the one the demon had used, that he felt fresh tears roll down over his temple.

“Pain in a dream isn't real. If you remember that, you can block it out. I knew it was a dream, and I knew it wasn't you, but once I knew it was a demon, I thought it was a desire demon. I've encountered them before.”

“How many times?”

“Three. Four. They use seduction. I thought that's what this was. It wasn't surprising that a demon might make itself look like you, really. I dream about you a lot. But it _wasn't_ a desire demon.”

The Bull kissed the top of his head, and Dorian clung to him. He pressed his cheek against the Bull's chest, and tried to focus on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thumping below.

“It choked me. It must have been a powerful demon, because I felt it as if it was crushing my neck, I couldn't breathe, but I didn't pass out. It was trying to weaken me and make me agree to terms. Fear. But not powerful enough to overpower me without trying to trick me.”

“That's because you're strong,” The Bull murmured. “You're too strong to just let a demon walk in and make a home in that head of yours.”

“But it wasn't like the other times. It was trying- trying to break me.”

The Bull _knew_ , Dorian thought. He knew from the inference of what waking shouting 'katoh' meant, from the way he couldn't bring himself to verbalise it. The Bull knew what the demon wearing his face had done, and his hands were gentle and careful as if it had happened to his physical body.

“I knew it wasn't you.”

The Iron Bull kissed his shoulder, and Dorian turned to lean his back against the Bull's chest as he scrubbed at his face with his hands.

“It wanted me scared, so it could offer to take away my fear.” He took a shuddering breath, sniffing again. “It's an obvious ploy, but it could have worked, in theory. Overwhelm with negative emotions and stimuli, including pain, and offer the only end to it. I'm usually quite good at blocking pain in the Fade. Tonight..”

“Tonight you were strong enough to fight off a demon. It was bad because the demons know they can't half-ass it with you, you're too strong for them.”

“Yes, well, you're lucky qunari don't dream.”

The Bull chuckled softly. “Of all the bits of of Tevinter rumour-mill crap to believe, it's that one?”

“What?”

“We have mages, of course we dream.”

“But you've told me you don't.”

“Because I don't, but I could.” The Bull wrapped his arms around Dorian, and kissed the side of his head. “I do, sometimes. Under the Qun you're trained to not allow yourself to dream.”

“How is that possible?”

“No idea. The body is a tool, and somehow these exercises – they're like meditation – make it so you can pull yourself away from deep, dreaming sleep, usually without waking up all the way. It takes years to master, that's why they start so young.”

“How young?”

“As soon as you're out of the nursery and into the dorms. Two?”

“And it takes _years_ to do?”

“Yeah. Most kids haven't fully got it before they're the age where magic starts showing up, and that fucks the whole method, really.”

“So you couldn't teach me to do it.” Dorian tried not to sound disappointed; the idea of being able to choose whether or not to dream sounded like a relief after the encounter he'd had. He didn't relish slipping into dreams again any time soon.

“Sure I could, if you've got a decade to spare.”

“I have no immediate plans,” Dorian muttered into the dark. The Bull hummed, resting his chin on top of his head as he squeezed him in an embrace.

“I could teach you the technique, if you think it'll help.”

“Probably not,” Dorian sighed. “But tell me anyway? I'm rather intrigued by this big Qun secret.”

“You think that's interesting, maybe I should show you the sex meditations I know.”

He craned his neck to look at the Bull in the dark, eyes finally adjusted to see the shape of his face, dramatic in the shadows of a moonless night. “What? You've been holding out on me!”

“Never, kadan, just saving some surprises. You just relax, I'll show you how to breathe properly.”

Dorian scoffed, but then he leant into the Bull's chest and eased his head back against his shoulder. He was already feeling much more relaxed just having the Bull near him, knowing that no matter the nightmare a demon could form from his image, the Bull in reality would never hurt him, would never ignore his voice, would never betray every hard-earned shred of trust between them.

He felt his breathing falling into sync with the Bull's, the deep slow inhale, and measured exhale, his body rising and falling with the motion of his great chest. He knew, even as he shuddered with the remnants of his sobs, that there was no safer place to be.

\---

Their sex was exciting and varied, and out of sheer coincidence, the Iron Bull had never been fucked as regularly as he was with Dorian in his bed. It was different, but it was just as fun to take Dorian apart while the man fucked him as it was the other way around, and sometimes even allowing Dorian to take him to pieces. He was getting more and more skilled at that, to a point where it was becoming less about letting it happen, and more about being unable to resist it happening, and letting himself be carried along by it.

Dorian's thrusts were slow and languid, letting the Bull enjoy the steady stretch. Dorian was not small, thick and long and definitely big in his experience of human cocks, and there had been no-one else in so long that the Bull felt like he'd been laid out new, unused to the accommodation, the heat and the way it felt to be consumed from the inside out.

“Your body,” Dorian purred, running his hand over the Bull's back. “Maker, this body. I'm going to ride this body-”

He heard nothing else, as a traitorous voice slick with danger spoke over him, but remained only in his head.

“ _The qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions.”_

Every thought and feeling he'd been chasing left him, as if they were being washed away in a torrent, leaving only the pressure and the sparking sensation of Dorian's cock inside him, where his hands gripped his hips tightly, where a screeching terror had sliced deep into his thigh.

He huffed a breath and willed his head to clear, because one of those sensations wasn't real, only a flesh memory, like the voice had been. But it still made him whine with the mixing sensations of ongoing pleasure and of phantom pain, and somewhere close by he could hear Dorian speaking words he didn't understand.

“ _Or maybe I will ride his body myself.”_

It felt as it had in the Fade, like a threat and a caress at the same time, like a non-corporeal hand had run fingers down his spine in a way that would have delighted him if it had been a lover's hand.

Every piece of fade crap in that place had seemed to want not only to attack him – that he was used to – but also to _touch_ him. Wisp had wrapped around his chest and sent tendrils of energy under his armour that did no harm, but he still felt like fingertips across his skin; and once, as he crushed one of those horrible, scuttling monstrosities under his axe something that felt like a tongue had wound around his ear.

The Bull knew it was in his power to stop, that he wasn't under siege from fiery manifestations of rage, just Dorian's warm hands scratching lightly at his hip, making him push back into the good sensation, but the bitter taste of burning in his mouth made him groan and turn his face into the bed. They'd fought their way out of the Fade proper, and he could fight through it now. No demon was going to fuck with him.

Unless, of course, Dorian ended up with a demon inside him, then a demon might actually _fuck_ him. A nightmare encased in his lover's skin might trick him and mount him, the voice that reverberated in his head might whisper at the top of his spine, its breath hot and real.

Or it might get inside _his_ head, take his body for a weapon, wield it against every tiny, puny form that he was so careful with. It might touch Dorian with hands that were no longer his own, make him watch from behind his own eyes as he ripped him apart.

“Katoh,” the Bull grunted into the bed.

“Shit.” He could hear Dorian behind him, withdrawing and pulling away, and the Bull slumped forward. “Did I hurt you? Was I going too fast? Bull, are you okay?”

“No questions.”

“Bull, you're shaking.” Dorian appeared at the side of the bed, crouched down and looking frightened as the Bull turned his good eye on him.

“Katoh means no questions asked.”

“I know. I'm sorry. Tell me what you need.”

The Bull pushed himself up and shifted to the side of the bed, Dorian moving to make room, so he didn't touch him. His whole body was shaking as he found his feet, rolling his shoulders back and feeling his muscles protesting weakly after holding himself in place on the bed.

“You remember what I told you if I got possessed?”

He went to the sink in the corner and wet a cloth, trying to ignore the way his body shook even as he wiped over the places where sweat had gathered.

“What?”

“Tell me.”

“What, about feinting on your blind side?”

“And then?” He didn't turn back towards where Dorian stood several feet behind him, but he knew he was there. The Bull could tell about how far he was by the sound of his voice and the way it carried. If he was possessed and he lunged now, Dorian might not have enough time to get out of the way. Even if he did have the time, there was no certainty that he would actually anticipate the Bull as a threat.

“I know I don't get to ask why you used the watchword, but you're scaring me.”

“You're afraid of me?” the Bull asked before he could stop himself, stomach lurching. He could see how own hands holding Dorian down, could feel the bones breaking under his hands.

“I'm worried about you.”

He turned to look at Dorian, who _did_ look worried, but unafraid. He'd expected him to look ready to fight or to flee, as if he knew what the Iron Bull was seeing, but the slump of his shoulders and the nervous slide of his hands against his thighs spoke of confusion and worry.

“I was thinking about the Fade.”

“The Fade?”

“Yeah.”

Dorian nodded to himself, and then fetched his leggings off the floor and pulled them on. For a moment the Iron Bull thought he might be dressing to leave, and was surprised at the disappointment that caught in his throat at the thought. But then he went to the dresser where books were stacked neatly, to retrieve the folded chess board that sat on top of one pile, and proceeded to begin to set it up on the table near the fire, taking one of the two mismatched chairs either side.

He gestured at the other seat. “Want a game?”

It was a simple and transparent attempt to distract the Bull from his unquiet mind and the way he could still smell the damned place, and he was grateful for it. He pulled on his own discarded trousers, knowing the perils of sitting with bare flesh on a wooden seat for too long, and slipped onto the chair opposite Dorian.

The pieces were dawnstone and dark cherry wood, ornate in the most ostentatious Orlesian manner. Probably worth a bit of money, if he'd had any mind to sell it. But the Inquisitor had received it from a dignitary and re-gifted it to him because she liked to indulge his taste for pretty things, and he rather enjoyed how offended Dorian looked every time he saw the thing. His nose was wrinkled as he set up the pieces, and that helped to soothe the Bull's mind some.

He'd only just got his first Tamassran piece out into play before Dorian spoke into the warm quiet. He'd been making a poor attempt at pretending not to watch the Bull rather than the game, given away in part by his lack of attempts to cheat.

“We never spoke about our time in the Fade.”

Bull watched the board. “We were both there, we didn't need to.”

“And you didn't want to.”

“Demon stuff kills the mood.”

Dorian cheated because he decided on moves quickly, and came up with sneaking strategy in the languid flow of chatter during games. One day he'd have to show him chess at speed, apparently not something that had caught on amongst the Tevinter nobility, but had been the only way Krem knew how to play. Half of the point of those games was to be quicker than your opponent as well as obliterate them with strategy, little room for sleight of hand.

“You can talk to me about it, if you like. Or the Inquisitor, perhaps? I wouldn't suggest Sera.”

“There's nothing to talk about.” The Bull nudged a piece across the board. “Really,” he added, when Dorian raised an eyebrow at him, moving a pawn forward. “The demon crap knows how to get in your head.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, looking at the board. He lifted his gaze to Bull when he spoke again.

“How long did you need to say the watchword before you actually did?”

He sighed. “Dorian, I'm fine.”

“Don't treat me a fool by trying to imply that for even a _moment_ you would accept that I am fine if I'd done this.” He took a long breath in through his nose and held it as he moved another piece, taking one of Bull's pawns. “I thought you were enjoying it. You were trembling and I thought it was because I’d done something good.”

“It _was_ good. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“I don't need you to comfort me, Bull, I'm only saying that I’m worried that you'd keep going when you needed to stop, for what? For me? For your pride?”

“It was just a memory.” It wasn't a lie, but nor was it the whole truth. “I didn't think it was going to blind-side me like that, it took me a while to process it and say it.”

Dorian was still watching him, evidently considering him and reasoning what he could say. He wouldn't ask, because 'no questions' meant that. It was not information the Bull was going to offer, when it was only a fleeting memory. Dorian was better off not knowing that his hot, wonderful words had triggered the sense memory of a threat that had been explicitly about having his body taken for a demon meat suit, but still made his skin crawl with all the underlying intent the voice had given it.

“I'm sorry that happened to you.”

The Bull didn't know if he meant the flashback or the Fade itself, but he thought it might well have been a sentiment aimed at both. Dorian was about to lose his remaining tower, and didn't seem to care.

“The Fade happened to both of us.”

“Yes, but I don't dream about it.”

The Bull's gaze rose to him. “Qunari don't dream.”

Dorian gave him a look, but didn't argue the point.

“The mind and the Fade are both powerful things in the space between consciousness and not. I'm just saying that it wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't precisely a hard time for me, considering. You and Sera had a particularly bad time.”

“Yeah, but I'm fine now.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow, but remained silent. The Iron Bull didn’t think anything good could come from telling him that he been caught off guard by twisted demon possession sex scenarios.

“I already know what I'd do if you were possessed,” Dorian said lightly as he made a show of studying the board.

“Yeah?”

“I'm not going to tell you. If you know, any demon that possesses you might have access to that knowledge and anticipate me.”

“Does it involve killing me?”

“I'm not going to tell you that either. You never know what a demon might find useful to know.”

It made him feel better that Dorian had actually thought about the possibility, too, enough that he'd planned in enough detail to consider how to prepare for a possession, even if he thought him too soft-hearted to kill him.

“I wouldn't let you hurt anyone.”

“If a demon was in control, what makes you think you could stop me?”

“You have seen me fight, haven't you?” Dorian flourished his hand, and the smile on his face was a good attempt at an easy one. “I could take you down, if I had to.”

“I'm not so sure.”

“Tomorrow, we spar. I'll show you.”

“I thought you didn't want to leave any information in my head for a demon to pick up on? You never know what you'll give away.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes at him, maybe trying to gauge his tone. The thoughts of demons were not far off, but it was easier now, to listen to the crackle of the fire and the clacking of chess pieces, and the smooth, richness of Dorian's voice.

“I know what I'm doing. In the morning, we spar; real weapons and barriers.”

“If you're maintaining barriers, you won't be giving it your all.” The idea of fighting against Dorian at full strength pulled a smile from him; facing the challenge of mastering all that power even for a second would be a thrill.

“I'll find a second to do our barriers, so I can concentrate on kicking seven shades of shit out of you.”

The Bull laughed and pretended not to see Dorian swapping pieces on the board, the motion smooth and quick, but not enough to fool an eye trained to spot it.

“Colourful. But I think you're all talk.”

“There's only one way to find out. You'll fight me?”

Dorian looked at him then, smile speaking to the challenge, but his eyes were soft. Being able to test whether Dorian was capable of matching him at full strength might help to clear his worries, and Bull could ease Dorian's own at the same time.

“Alright, big guy. You're on.”

“Good.” Dorian nodded, pleased, as he slid one of his feet against Bull's. Dorian's were still soft from the ointment he'd applied sometime before bed. The Bull tipped his foot up into the contact and eased forward in his chair, closing the distance between them as Dorian did the same.

**There is such a shelter in each other.” - Nick Laird**

**Author's Note:**

> Warning explanation: The rape featured is semi-explicit and takes place in a dream between Dorian and a demon that has made itself look like Iron Bull. Dorian is aware from the start that it is not really Iron Bull.
> 
> A nod to [CandidCantrix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CandidCantrix/pseuds/CandidCantrix), without whose wonderful exploration of the Qun in 'Bellus et Bestia' I wouldn't have been brave enough to go 'all in' with the idea of Qunari paperwork and the nature of how Tamassran services operate.


End file.
